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Monday, September 28, 2009

Disoriented

I should be hunting down boxes and putting things in them, but I have to write. I have to get this out. What better way than to share it with the world, I guess.

Yesterday, I walked into my house for the first time in about a month, but who's keeping track. It smelled like a house that hasn't been lived in enough lately; slightly stale and dusty. It looked barren in some places and crowded in others, where I'd pulled a bunch of stuff out from dark corners, intending to purge. The floorboards creaked like they always have and it sounded like my house, my own house, the house my husband and I don't quite own and are about to sell.

I am quite comfortable out at the farm, if not totally. It was my home, and we visit often, so it hasn't been hard to settle in there. It is not home though, despite my parents making us feel at home and welcome. It's "the Farm." It's their home, it's the haven and refuge we escape to. Things change slowly there, but I've showed up and moved things, changed things, gotten rid of things. I had to do it and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

It took years to feel at home in this little house of mine. It took years to scrape off the layers of somebody else's wallpaper until the house felt like a place I could call home. Now I'm preparing it to be somebody else's again. It saddens me, but at the same time I have a nagging awareness that I never truly belonged here. I made friends, the kind I'll keep, and I established networks and familiarity. I can look out my window and see the neighbourhood so much of my life revolved around, but I feel that old claustrophobia again. Too many houses. Too much pavement.

The farmhouse is too close to a highway and at night the big trucks rattle their engine brakes to slow down for the curve. The sky is darker than in town, but close enough to several small towns to see a slight orange haze in the distance.

I walk into the house in the evening after leaving the barn, and I have to look up. There are stars out there, all shapes and sizes. I never get tired of them. The other night, a falling star the size of a firework sizzled through the sky like it was getting ready to land in the neighbour's hay field. I made a wish.

I know there's a place for me to move my little family. I pray that when we can afford it, we'll find it. I pray for a lot of things. I don't know if I'm praying for the right things. All I know is that when I'm under that big sky, surrounded by the crickets that sing all day and all night, I feel like myself. I feel like things aren't quite right but I'll survive.

But right now, between two houses and two worlds, I feel like I somehow belong and yet not belong to both.

5 comments:

Change, any change, is hard. I think we are programmed to be habitual, a lot like the animals that we love and live for. I try to embrace change in my life; in my personal life, at work, with my family, with my friends, with my horse stuff...but deep down, it always scares me, and I always feel a weird hole in my gut after a change. It eventually goes away, but that doesn't mean I won't endure the exact same cycle the next time there is a change.

I feel for you, as I can relate to the road you're walking right now. You are blessed to have a husband who supports your dreams, understands your heart, and is your steady eddy during this little rollercoaster ride of yours. When the ride is over, that too will be a change...It's all very interesting and maybe the cycle is simply designed to keep us in touch with our emotions. To keep us grounded. Ya' think?

You wrote this so beautifully and heart-achingly. It's like being caught between two worlds.

Having moved around so much, I've found that once you're world expands past your first small circle, there is always a part of you that feels like it's missing something. We leave little pieces of our hearts everywhere we call home.

Still - you are moving towards something - towards a better home. And for now - enjoy that you still have a foot a bit in both.

Heidi. I came here tonight to look for sympathy (if I'm honest) because I am once again on my own. I knew you would understand and I was craving understanding. I read your post and feel better and the same, all at once.

I am lonely, that's the same. But now I'm thinking more about it being the change itself that is hard, rather than being on my own. Of course, I would rather have my fave 'partner in crime' here with me but sometimes I hate admitting that it's hard to be without him. I feel like others see it as dependent or weak - but it's really not, we've done too much independently for that to be true!

It's the constant change, to routine, socialization etc. that is the truly difficult part. Well, that and not cuddling before drifting into sleep.

I've been surprised that I've felt right at home in my new house, pretty much since day one. And that's even with my husband leaving almost right away for over a month. That tells me this is home. I think you will find the same thing when you find your place. It will be different and you'll need to get to know it's subtleties, but it will be home.

Sorry, your post struck a cord. I mentioned I'm kinda lonely, right? ;-) I think change is good, it usually means we are learning or growing.

About Me

I ride, I read, I write. I share my life with a husband, two teenagers, a Pug, a scary house cat, and three horses. Pink is my favourite colour. I used to hate it but then my brain got rearranged and now I like it so much I sometimes dye my hair pink. I'm slightly crazy and I believe we should all stop saying crazy like it's a bad thing. I write novels - like as in, I start them and actually finish them - and I fully intend to be a published author. I teach people how to ride horses for a living, and I love my job! All I ever wanted to do was ride my ponies and write my stories. Hey, that's what I do! Lucky, lucky me. Join me for horses, trucks, Johnny Depp, antidepressants, beer, trashy pop culture, interior desecrating, Jesus, John Deere, and rock stars. Yeeaahhh! We'll laugh and cry, it'll be fun, c'mon.